


Immediate

by Laylah



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Competency Kink, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't fight on the circuit, for the same reasons Mitsuru doesn't fence competitively anymore, but it looks as though he's still training hard, just like she is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immediate

When Mitsuru lets herself into the Kirijo gym, she can hear the creak of the chain, and the steady thump-thump of gloves against the heavy bag. It's quarter to eleven; even her most dedicated employees have gone home by now. There's only one person she knows who would still be using the facilities this late. She keys in her executive override on the panel beside the door and locks it, so the cleaning staff won't interrupt them.

Akihiko doesn't look up from his routine when she walks out onto the floor, even though she's plainly visible in the mirrors; he's too focused on finishing this sequence. He doesn't fight on the circuit, for the same reasons Mitsuru doesn't fence competitively anymore, but it looks as though he's still training hard, just like she is. Even without Tartarus to test themselves, neither of them can let the skills fade.

He must have been here for a while; his hair is damp with sweat at his nape and his temples, and the thin cotton of his tank top is soaked straight through. Wet, the fabric clings to him, outlining every shift and slide of muscle as he throws his punches. Mitsuru licks her lips, and undoes the top button of her blouse. She can wait until he's done.

At the end of this last series of punches -- he _still_ favors his left side, after all this time -- he steps back, turning toward her. "Mitsuru," he says. He fumbles with his gloves, tugging them free. "Working late again?"

"Unfortunately, the company still won't run itself," Mitsuru says. Even if it could, she's not sure she would want to let it, honestly; she likes _knowing_, likes having its direction under control. She drops her purse beside the wall. "I'm through for the night now, though."

"Yeah, me too," Akihiko says. "If you want to wait a minute, I could get a quick shower, and --"

"No," Mitsuru says. "I don't want to wait." She crosses the floor to reach him in two confident steps, and the surprise hasn't faded from his face yet when she wraps a hand around his nape and leans in for a kiss. She can taste the salt of his sweat on his lip, can smell the raw metallic scent of it clinging to him -- it makes her kiss harder, bite, hungry for it. He's her antidote to the bloodless savagery of corporate politics, immediate and physical and _personal_.

His hands settle at her waist, hot through her blouse, and he pulls back enough to say, "I'm a mess. Are you sure you want to --?"

"I'm sure," Mitsuru says. "Don't worry about it." She can always send her clothes to be cleaned. She leans in again to lick the frantic pulse under his chin. The sharpness of salt on his skin is intoxicating. "You taste good," she purrs in his ear.

Akihiko shivers. "Really? You like it, huh?"

Mitsuru hums, and bites down on his throat. He moans, clutching tighter, and the shudder that runs through him makes heat pulse between her legs. She'd pull his hair if it were long enough, settles for raking her nails along his nape.

"Mitsuru," he says, like a plea. His hands skate over her back, settle, pull her close. The scent of his sweat is almost overpowering. "Right here?"

The suggestion makes her clit pulse again, aching, and she nods. "Right here." She curls her hands over his shoulders and pushes, and he sinks to the mat in front of her. His hands slide up beneath her skirt to catch the waistband of her panties and pull them down. He breathes deeply, as if he finds her scent compelling, too.

He leans close and rubs his face against the inside of her thigh, just above the knee. The roughness of stubble against soft skin makes her shiver, and he follows it with a wet, open-mouthed kiss. "Like this?" he says.

Mitsuru's not honestly sure if she could keep her balance. She shakes her head. "I want to ride you," she says.

Akihiko moans. "Yes," he says. "Please." He leans back, giving her room, and Mitsuru kneels to straddle him. He pulls down his shorts and briefs together, baring his cock.

This is still new, this indulgence -- they were scrupulously careful about using barriers long after they'd each figured out that there wasn't anyone else they wanted to trust to get this close. Only in the last few months have they started to go without, still recent enough that there's a little illicit thrill to going bare. Mitsuru lowers herself down on top of Akihiko, grinds against his cock and slicking him -- marking him -- with her fluids. His eyelids flutter, and he moans, rocking his hips and rubbing against her folds.

It's a tease for both of them, and she doesn't want to keep it up for long. She reaches down to steady his cock and fills herself with it, sinking down on him. No matter how many times they do this, there's still always that first moment of disorientation, the strangeness of the pressure, before her body recognizes the sensation as pleasure. He holds still and she breathes through it, adjusting to the fullness, and it passes like it always does.

They slide so easily, when she starts to move, skin on skin and slick with her fluids. She rocks in his lap, taking him, and he pushes up to meet her. Fresh sweat beads on his brow and darkens his shirt; Mitsuru can feel how damp her skin becomes under her blouse, drenching the band of her bra. This is what she craves, the exertion, the flex of muscle as they strain against each other, the salt and musk in the air between them. Neither of them spare breath to speak -- they don't have to hold back with each other, so they fuck hard, fast, and when Mitsuru feels the heat overtake her, feels herself clench tight around him, she keens in her throat.

Akihiko moans at the feel of her orgasm, holding tighter to her hips. Mitsuru doesn't let herself stop moving, rides him through the aftershocks until he arches up beneath her and lets go.

In the aftermath she leans down to kiss him. Her hair sticks to her neck, damp; her arms tremble from holding her up. When she sits back, Akihiko smiles. "Pretty good way to end a workout," he says.

Mitsuru smiles back. "Is it?" she says. "That's good to know."

Akihiko shrugs. "Maybe sometime I'll make it in here early enough to catch you before work."

"Maybe you should," Mitsuru says. She braces herself and eases off him slowly. The insides of her thighs are slick with both of their come. "If you want to wait for me to get a shower, I'll take you home."

"Oh, so now it's okay to wait, huh?" Akihiko says. He gets to his feet and offers her a hand up. "Thanks, that'd be great. I'll probably join you for the shower."

Most likely, that'll make them even later to leave -- but Mitsuru holds onto his hand, feeling the pulse beat in her fingertips, and thinks that really, that's an inconvenience she doesn't mind.


End file.
